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<title>I Am the One Thing in Life I Can Control by glennjaminhow</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26536762">I Am the One Thing in Life I Can Control</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/glennjaminhow/pseuds/glennjaminhow'>glennjaminhow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Episode: s01e01 The Gang Gets Racist, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Homophobia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:27:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26536762</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/glennjaminhow/pseuds/glennjaminhow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"He didn’t want what happened last night either, but he guesses he doesn’t get to choose when it comes to sex anymore. But he does get to choose when it comes to this. Because he’s in control, and no one can take that away from him."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Am the One Thing in Life I Can Control</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Did I have sex with a guy last night?”</p><p>Mac looks up. He’s sprawled out on the couch, wearing nothing but oddly familiar striped boxer brief; he has one hand in a bag of chips and the other clutching a beer.</p><p>“I dunno, dude. Sex is, like, private shit. I don’t keep up with your private shit.”</p><p>Dennis eyes him. “You’re literally wearing my underwear right now.”</p><p>Mac shrugs and slurps his beer. He burps. It smells like nachos. Has Mac been eating nachos again? Dennis told him not to eat that shit anymore. </p><p>“I just wanna know if I fucked that guy, Mac.”</p><p>A twinge of anxiety swishes through his core. It bubbles and races up his throat. His ass is sore. There was a used condom on his bedside table when he woke up. There are nail marks on his back. Bruises on his hips. But… if it was that black guy Dee was hanging out with, Dennis isn’t exactly opposed… But he doesn’t want some nut job just getting in on this hunk of meat. He remembers two people in his room, but he can’t remember faces or voices or anything other than, “How’s that ass feelin’?”</p><p>The gay bar thing was a joke. He knows this now. He wants nothing to do with it anymore. Besides, he can’t be gay. Dee’s right. He isn’t gay; he’s just really really vain. Christ, how can Dennis even begin to think that of himself? He isn’t. He can’t be. It doesn’t track. That’s why they pulled the plug on the scheme, and he’s going to go back to banging chicks exclusively because, come on, college does not count. There’s just something weird twisting in his gut, and he can’t put his finger on why part of him feels so… dirty. </p><p>He’s felt like this before.</p><p>Whatever. Fuck it.</p><p>Move past it.</p><p>“He probably fucked you, Den,” Mac says.</p><p>Dennis’ internal pep talk unravels in seconds. He takes a seat on the couch. He chews the skin around his fingernails. He bounces his heel up and down, up and down, up and down on the hardwood floor. His muscles shake. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like being out of control. But why does he feel this way? He gets really fucking drunk, and now this happens? He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t like uncertainty. He doesn’t like it.   </p><p>“I mean, it isn’t that far of a stretch,” Mac points out. “You’ll fuck anyone, dude.”</p><p>Dennis’ heart plummets toward his toes. “Thanks a lot, dude.”</p><p>“What the fuck did I do?”</p><p>Dennis jumps up.</p><p>He starts pacing back and forth.</p><p>“You’re the one who got me so fucked up last night!” he shouts. “I lost control of myself, and, apparently, made some really fucking stupid decisions, and you didn’t even stop me! You didn’t even help!”</p><p>Mac sits up. “What am I supposed to do about it? I’m not your mommy. I don’t decide your shit for you. If you wanna fuck a few dudes, go ‘head. Of course, you’re so going to Hell for it, and God will release his fury on you, but that’s a story for another time.”</p><p>“You shouldn’t let me fuck anyone when I’m shit faced like that.”</p><p>“Get off your high pony, man,” Mac says, waving him off. “You’re a grown up. Own your shit, and don’t try to pin it on me.”</p><p>Dennis rolls his eyes, hands on his hips and panting in frustration. His head hurts. His stomach feels bloated, and there’s some much pressure inside his chest. Whatever. Maybe Mac’s right. This shit is probably his fault. But, still, Mac should’ve fucking done something to stop this. Mac’s the one who couldn’t figure out the lime and salt thing anyway. It’s not his fault Mac’s a fucking idiot. How the fuck does the dude even get himself dressed in the morning?</p><p>He inhales shakily, but exhales with purpose. “Don’t let this happen again.”</p><p>“Oh my god, Den, shut up! It’s not that big of a deal. Sit down, and eat some chips with me.”</p><p>“Fine,” Dennis mumbles.</p><p>He goes to take a chip out of the bag, but it’s mostly crumbs. He stares at his grease-coated fingertips and grimaces. Gross. He doesn’t want this. He didn’t want what happened last night either, but he guesses he doesn’t get to choose when it comes to sex anymore. But he does get to choose when it comes to this. Because he’s in control, and no one can take that away from him.</p><p>Dennis wipes his hand on the couch. He reaches for a beer from the lukewarm six pack on the coffee table. He likes the sound it makes when it pops open. The liquid is cool on his throat.</p><p>“You don’t want any chips?” Mac asks with his mouth full, offering the bag to Dennis.</p><p>Dennis shoves it away. “No. Get that shit away from me.”</p><p>“Jesus Christ, dude. You’re cranky today,” he murmurs.</p><p>They watch an episode of Beverly Hills, 90210 in silence. Mac passes out before 9:30. Dennis picks up stray chips and beer cans. He carelessly tosses a blanket over Mac. He showers for the third time since he’s been awake, cleans his room again, and collapses on the mattress just after 10:45. He’s never in bed this early. His stomach in knots and brain cloudy, he puts his hands behind his head and stares up at the ceiling.</p><p>Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe if he just sleeps it off things will be clearer in the morning. Maybe he’ll remember who was in his bed or why he got so fucked up or why his ass hurts. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore today.</p><p>So he doesn’t.</p><p>He shuts it out, shoving it into a wad in the far right corner, close enough to keep an eye on but far enough away to not feel it. </p><p>Things will make more sense in the morning.</p>
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